


Election Night

by tiptoe39



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2012 United States Election, Community: homebrewbingo, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Politics, beloved enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's a Republican.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Election Night

**Author's Note:**

> (For homebrewbingo space: beloved enemies.)

Derek’s a Republican.  
  
Stiles doesn’t know what to do with this information, but it seems incredibly important. Derek’s a Republican.

  
  
It first comes up after sex, which helps. Stiles makes an offhand comment about Derek being an ass, but not a Mitt Romney ass, and Derek says, “Mitt Romney’s not an ass.”  
  
Stiles sits up, is immediately freezing, and lies back down, cuddling into Derek’s body. “I can’t believe you just said that. Mitt Romney is the ultimate ass.”  
  
“Pff.” Stiles can practically feel the force of Derek’s eyeroll. “Didn’t realize you were the jealous type.”  
  
“Jealous? What the hell are you talking about, jealous? I wouldn’t want to be that asshat if my life depended on it.”  
  
“Yes, you would,” Derek says. “And if you ever made that much money you’d be damn happy to be who you are.”  
  
Stiles breaks out laughing. “You think I hate him cause he’s rich? Oh, my God, Derek, don’t tell me you’re a Republican. As though being a werewolf weren’t bad enough.”  
  
Derek doesn’t answer. And the silence chills Stiles to the bone. He rolls off Derek and stares up at the ceiling, suddenly at a loss for words. Holy shit.  
  
But when Stiles thinks about it, it makes sense. Derek’s a survival-of-the-fittest kind of guy. He hasn’t benefited from any government programs. He probably thinks the weaker types on the earth deserve to go down in flames, and if you get cancer or hit by a car then you better have saved up in advance for just such an occasion, because he doesn’t owe you a damn thing. Not like you’ve done anything for him lately.  
  
Still, it feels like it ought to be a deal-breaker, or a mood-killer. It’s not.

Like, Derek doesn’t have any sympathy for illegal immigrants. And Stiles teases him about being pretty damn illegal himself. At which point Derek says, “Exactly, I just haven’t gotten caught yet. They wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether  I’m just trying to make a better life for myself, would they? So why the fuck should some immigrant get a better deal than that?”

And Stiles just wants to tackle him and throw him to the floor and ride him like he’s trying to cross the border.

Or, for example, Derek is wounded from a hunter’s arrow and he’s pulling it out, and Stiles feels the need to tell him that this would be a bitch if he didn’t have werewolf healing powers.

“See, that’s why universal health care is important,” he says.

“I don’t go to hospitals,” Derek growls.

“But I would.” This is like poking a very cranky bear with a very sharp stick, but Stiles can’t help himself. “And you wouldn’t want me to be out on the street cause I couldn’t pay my hospital bill, would you?”

Derek glowers at him. “Doesn’t mean I should pay it.”

“So you’d rather I don’t go to the hospital and die of a poisoned arrow?”

“I’ll give you something you can’t go to the hospital with,” Derek says, and leans over to bite at Stiles’ mouth, sliding his hands under Stiles’ hipbones to claw at his ass. Stiles does, indeed, go home with several marks in places he’d be ashamed to show to a local ER nurse.

On election night, Stiles comes over to find Derek relaxing on the couch with a bottle of actual champagne. Stiles goggles at it, slack-jawed, for a minute before Derek grins toothily and explains, “It’s to celebrate victory.”

They open it when North Carolina gets called for Romney. Derek lifts his glass to the television set. “That’s the first stone in an avalanche.”

He’s actually kind of punchy. It’s fun to watch. More fun after Stiles has his first glass and gets slightly punchy himself. They do a lot of making out on the couch to the dulcet tones of Rachel Maddow and/or Karl Rove (they change the channel whenever there’s a commercial). Derek’s mouth is bubbly and fun, tasting of wine and excitement, and Stiles ends up in his lap, dry-humping him and groaning so loud they almost don’t hear Ohio get called.

“Holy shit,” Derek grunts, eyes fixed on the TV. Stiles thinks he’s just enjoying himself, but then he looks over his shoulder to discover the election is over.

Derek tips his head onto the couch’s back, his eyes closing. “I can’t believe it,” he says.

“Aw, it’s not so bad!” Stiles slides off him, curls up next to him and gives him a playful punch in the chest. “This is the beauty of America, that two friends who disagree politically can still get drunk and dry-hump. Brings a tear to my eye, actually.”

Derek opens one eye, slides it toward Stiles, and damn, if one-eyed looks could kill. “We’re not _friends_ ,” he says curtly.

“Beloved enemies, then. Whatever.”

A subdued laugh rumbles in Derek’s chest. “That’s much better.”

Stiles could, at this point, make a note of the _beloved_ part of that turn of phrase, but for once his tact holds out. Besides, he’s already gotten one thing he wants tonight. Might as well not rub it in.


End file.
